Without hesitation, the king continued, louder. "I claim before all present, mortals before me and immortals all around me, that I and my line are unfit to rule a kingdom such as this."
Tiuren was amazed at Kohath's resignation and uncharacteristic lack of emotion.
"Only a true sovereign of wizardry, one who understands the higher worlds, can claim mastery of this great land. My last act as king is to name Darius, great in the ways of sorcery, as my successor.''
Gracefully, Kohath stood and drew out the scepter of office that had been tucked within his shirt. There was no quiver in his stance, despite the dour deed he had just committed. Kohath tossed the scepter onto the throne and left the chamber, accompanied only by the silence of the crowd.
Darius hurried toward the dais. The count-or rather, the new king-appeared to have thought that Kohath would remain to congratulate him.
Such a fool will make a terrible king, the bard predicted. He knew that Kohath was even now making his way to Diccona's chambers to see if his sacrifice had lifted the curse.
Tiuren slipped quickly out of the great hall to try to catch up with him. If Kohath ever needed a friend, it was now.
"The curse is lifted! Former Queen Diccona recovers quickly! She and the former king will soon leave the palace, and Vantir itself!"
Tiuren overheard the news even as he pushed through the buzzing crowds. He had to reach his friend quickly and find out his plans. The passages of the palace swelled with people excited or disturbed by the recent events.
The heavy wooden door leading into the chambers stood slightly ajar, and Tiuren pushed it open, evoking an unwanted squeak from the hinges. A small antechamber stood between the door and the bedroom. Despite his years of friendship with the king, Tiuren had been to the royal chambers only once or twice. Knowing it was proper to announce his presence, he called out a greeting, but no one answered. Without further hesitation, he parted the thick red curtain covering the entrance to the bedchamber.
The next few moments' exploration determined that the dimly lit royal chambers were empty. A wave of guilt passed over Tiuren-he should not be here, he thought. Before his thoughts could become action, however, he heard a noise. The door to the chamber was opening.
Tiuren found himself in an awkward situation, and he quickly began thinking up excuses for why he had violated the privacy of the royal chambers. As his mind worked on explanations, his eyes scanned the room for a hiding spot. He found concealment much quicker than a good excuse, and so leapt within a wardrobe filled with regal garments. The curtain separating the foyer and the bedchamber parted as soon as he turned around within the wardrobe-there was not even time to close the door.
Figures passed through the curtain. Diccona, the queen, slipped in clandestinely, accompanied by another. The shadowy form waited near the entrance as Diccona looked about and then quietly announced that they were alone. Tiuren could hardly keep from gasping in surprise when Count Darius took hold of the queen around her hips and pulled her to him, kissing her deeply. Darius?
Without another word, the two disappeared into the next room. Tiuren's mind reeled. He had to get out of here-what was going on? None of this made sense. Suddenly, the squeak of the door betrayed yet another intruder.
But no, this was Kohath. He stepped into the chamber and moved toward a stout chest on the wall opposite the wardrobe. Deep in thought, Kohath began busily packing a brown leather bag with clothing and personal belongings. His mood seemed surprisingly enthusiastic, considering the situation-his eyes retained at least a little of their former spark.
Kohath seemed oblivious to what had occurred moments ago. How could he tell his friend what he had seen, especially after all that had already transpired? Moreover, what would he tell him? None of it made sense to Tiuren.
As the bard watched, still unsure what to do, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He pulled back farther into the concealing clothes in the wardrobe. The sight before him made him regret his hesitation.
Diccona approached her husband from the next room. Only her silhouette was visible in the dark doorway where she emerged.
"Oh, you're here," Kohath stated, smiling, but not looking up. "Are you packed yet, my darling?" He continued his work as the queen drew near.
A glint of light caught Tiuren's eye. No! A knife blade, cold and metallic in the light from the nearby window, rose above Diccona's head, a slender arm carrying it down toward the hunched form of the former king. It went in with the speed and smoothness of sorcery. Diccona sank the long blade up to its hilt into Kohath's lower neck.
Kohath's response was only a low moan of pain and surprise as he turned toward his attacker. A warrior such as he would not die quickly, even from such a lethal blow. There was possibly time for Tiuren to act, but what should he do? Could he strike the queen? Would Kohath even want him to?
Tiuren readied himself to spring from the wardrobe, but instinct gave him pause. There was yet another figure in the darkness behind Diccona-oh, yes, the wizard Darius! Kohath collapsed to his knees, his shirt now drenched in blood-and then fell heavily onto his back, looking up wordlessly at his wife.
Only then did the new king move forward, laying a familiar hand on Diccona's soft shoulder.
The illness had been a ploy-a plot to unseat Kohath using the queen, who had never been in any real danger. She had betrayed Kohath-but worse, Kohath also now knew. How better it would have been for him to die not knowing that his own love, for whom he had renounced all, had not only betrayed him, but had done so counting on the fact that he would make such a sacrifice.
Although a storyteller known for his imagination, Tiuren could not conceive of the pain a man of such strong passions as Kohath was feeling right now.
"Diccona…" Kohath managed to sputter. His eyes narrowed, filled not with the love that had always been there, but with hatred. His emotional misery surely surpassed the physical pain-though neither lasted long. The murderous pair watched, expressionlessly staring at their victim, as Kohath died.
Though not a coward, Tiuren realized he had to flee. Kohath was dead. The whole thing had caught the bard with his guard down. He had not acted fast enough to save his friend-he had not acted at all. But what could he have done? Unarmed and unprepared, he could have probably overcome Diccona, but Darius was certainly armed, and a sorcerer. Either way, Kohath would have died.
No, Tiuren had to run-for the moment, the pair had their backs to him. He had to act fast. He had to reveal the new king's insidious plot. Maybe he could not save his friend, but he could avenge him. He sprang from the wardrobe and ran for the door.
Tiuren was quick, but not quick enough. As he left the bedchamber and dived into the antechamber, the door slammed shut, seemingly of its own accord. He reached it and tugged, but it held fast. His foe had cut him off using some sort of spell. Count-King Darius stood behind him, a curved blade in his hand, his skin crackling with amber lightning of magical origins. Tiuren whirled to face the wizard, his hand instinctively going for a sword that wasn't there.
'Tiuren," the evil wizard said flatly. "Always where you aren't wanted."
Steely eyed, Diccona stood behind Darius, her arm casually resting on his shoulder, her other hand still covered in her husband's blood.
"How… how could you do this?" Tiuren asked, directing the question toward Diccona. As he spoke, he pressed his body against the door behind him, still attempting to somehow get it open. No use-he was trapped.
"It was simple," Diccona boasted. Her long black hair whipped about her face as she grew excited at their victory. "The old fool did it to himself, really. I married him for power. He married me for love. Now I am with Darius, who will bring Vantir to new heights with his wizardry. I have more power than ever, and Kohath is dead." She paused to glance back at her husband's body.